The Deadliest Games
by Alexeander
Summary: Eighth Quarter Quell. An arena of dreams. Reality will be shattered, hearts will be broken. Death lurks around the corner. Who will awaken victorious?
1. Introduction

**City Circle, The Capitol**

Colorful lights flashed erratically. The anthem blared out from enormous speakers. The crowd went wild, cheering with enough force to make the ground shake.

It was amidst all this chaos that the president of Panem made his entrance.

A particularly deafening burst of the anthem managed to silence the crowd temporarily, long enough for the audience to notice the tall, sturdy, and rather imposing man who had taken the stage. The audience leaned forward in anticipation, wondering what ingenious twist would make this year's Quarter Quell especially entertaining, entertaining enough for the President to summon the entire Capitol to the City Circle for a mandatory reading of the card. Perhaps there would be additional tributes? Or maybe the contestants would be chosen by a vote? Anything was possible in this Quell.

The President cleared his throat. "Greetings, citizens of Panem," he rumbled. The crowd let out a thundering roar of welcome in response, a wall of sound that startled even the President. But this was only for a moment. As he regained his composure, the president made a little half smile as he raised his hand, motioning for the crowd to quiet down.

Once most of the crowd had calmed down, the President continued his speech, with his little blurb from the Treaty of Treason and a summary of a Quarter Quell, a glorified version of the Games held every twenty-five years, with a special twist of symbolic significance to the rebellion.

"As most of you know, today is a very special day," the President announced. "It was on this very day, two hundred years ago, that the last rebel forces in the districts laid down their arms and surrendering to the Capitol, thus ending the Dark Days."

"And now, for our eighth Quarter Quell," continued the President. A little boy dressed entirely in white stepped forward, holding out an open wooden box filled with envelopes marked with numbers. The President carefully picked out the envelope marked 200. Delicately opening the yellowed, brittle envelope, the President fished out a slip of paper. "On the two hundredth anniversary," he read, his voice carrying out over the completely silent audience, "as a reminder to the rebels that they chose to incite rebellion twice…there will be two Hunger Games this year. The first round of Games, one held for each District, shall, by 'process of elimination' determine the tributes for the second."

With another mysterious half smile, the President turned around and strode off into the night, leaving the crowd to comprehend the deadly consequences of this new turn of events.


	2. Inception: The Beginning

**Inception: The Beginning**

**Presidential Mansion, The Capitol**

"These are the final plans, I presume?" asked the president as the new Head Gamemaker handed him a heavy manila envelope.

"Yes, sir," Head Gamemaker Ian Crowley replied. "Now there's just the matter of that pay raise you pro—"

"Sit down," the president interrupted, gesturing for a burly peacekeeper to push the Gamemaker into a chair. "We might discuss your salary later—if this year's Games prove to be satisfactory. You know that I do not tolerate failure."

"Yes, sir," Ian repeated stiffly. His mind recalled last year's Games, a complete fiasco. It had taken him weeks to clean up the mess that the old Head Gamemaker had left behind before his untimely death. And then there was the outraged public to deal with, the riots in the districts that had to be repressed…no, failure was not an option here.

The Gamemaker's mind snapped back to the present as the president opened the folder, taking out a sheaf of papers clipped together. ARENA BLUEPRINTS, the cover read. Delicately, the president flipped open the packet, carefully watching his subordinate's face for any sign of fear. To his surprise, the Gamemaker's face remained impressively calm, coolly staring back at him. The president looked back down at the papers.

"Is this a joke?" he demanded, lifting up the packet for Ian to see. The entire first page was filled by a simple, black and white diagram of a human brain. "I understand that the budget cuts were hard on the Games Department, but—"

"I would suggest turning the page, sir," Ian replied, his voice mocking.

"Was that an order, Crowley?" asked the president, his voice dangerously low.

"No, sir, just a suggestion," answered the Gamemaker, winking at the glowering president.

Fuming, the president turned the page, his eyes darting back and forth furiously as he flipped through the packet. Almost instantly, his scowl disappeared, replaced by one of his sly little half smiles, his eyebrows arching higher with every page he read.

The president finally finished reading, grinning from ear to ear—the closest Ian had ever seen him to laughing.

"Quite clever of you, Crowley," remarked the president, sliding the packet back into the folder. "Tell me, how close are you to finishing the arena?"

"We've just got the file encrypting left to do," replied the Gamemaker. "Of course, we could finish much faster if a _certain_ Head Gamemaker received the pay raise he's been asking about for the past six months…"

* * *

**Games Center, The Capitol**

Ian Crowley paced up and down the floor of his office, a huge chamber at the very top of the Games Tower. Expensive paintings adorned the walls, and the room was furnished with a hardwood desk, several plush chairs, computerized screens floating randomly around the room, a minibar stocked with expensive wines, and an enormous rug made from the furs of a now extinct species of leopard.

But right now, Ian had no time to enjoy any of those luxuries. He was worrying over the most important part of the Games: the importing of tributes into the Capitol. Once in the city, they were safe, but out in the countryside, they were vulnerable—to the rebels, to the beasts, to the escaped tributes from last year. No, Ian would not rest assured until every one of his precious tributes was safe in the Capitol.

"Mr. Crowley?" a voice cut across his jumbled thoughts. The Gamemaker spun around and saw his assistant, Aidan, standing at the elevator doorway, a stack of folders in his hands. "The tributes from District One have arrived."

"How many times have I told you not to sneak up on me like that?" roared Ian.

"Sorry, Mr. Crowley," replied Aidan indifferently. Aidan always enjoyed freaking Ian out, knowing that Ian would keep him because he got through his work twice as fast as the Gamemaker's previous assistants.

"Bios?" asked Ian, having finished venting his rage, and Aidan threw two of the folders at the Gamemaker before disappearing back into the elevator. Crowley caught both of them and opened the top one. DISTRICT ONE—MALE TRIBUTE the cover page read. Underneath it, it smaller lettering, was the name CHANDLER KENNEL, as well as a photo of a handsome blond boy, who Crowley assumed was Chandler.

Skimming through the packet, Crowley picked out a couple of interesting facts about the boy. He had been abused by his now-dead father, he had apparently saved a girl from a mugging once, and he appeared to enjoy screwing around with peoples' minds. Standard psychopathic Career, the Gamemaker thought to himself.

Then it was the girl's turn. Crowley took out the packet from the bottom folder, noticing the face of a pretty blonde girl on the cover. CARAMEL BURGUNDY, the name read.

Like the boy, the girl had been abused by her father, a Peacekeeper. On the other hand, her mother was a former victor, having won the Games about twenty years ago. But what stood out the most to Crowley was the girl's talent in biology, or, more specifically, animal dissection. Another sadist, thought the Gamemaker, We always seem to get these freaks from One.

"One down, eleven more to go," the Gamemaker said to no one in particular. And then he resumed his pacing.

* * *

**Subterranean Archives, The Capitol**

"Here you go, Mr. President," squeaked the tiny librarian, Winston. "It's all yours."

And with that, he slammed the steel door shut with a loud CLANG. The president could hear several bolts being slid into place, a metal grid grating over the door as it fell into position, and a creaky lock being turned, all on the other side.

The little fellow doesn't like being down here, noted the president. Not that he could blame him. The mysterious tunnels carved deep into bedrock, winding off into a foreboding gloom, unnerved even the president. The entire place had a sinister feeling to it, as if it were abandoned. Somewhere in the distance, a small animal, perhaps a rat, scuttled on the floor. Its claws made eerie clicking noises. Water dripped in from countless leaks in the weathered ceiling.

Despite the drawbacks, the archives still had their benefits. Most notably, as being an easy way to hide a complete, unbiased history of mankind from the ignorant masses, as only the president and Winston were allowed down here. Forget the fabricated garbage the president broadcast as propaganda—none of it would be found down here. What the citizens saw and believed on their televisions, was, in fact, a far cry from reality. If the public ever caught wind of these archives, there would surely be a riot.

Right now, however, the president had a goal in mind and would not be deterred by any obstacle. Picking up a lantern, the president climbed down a short flight of stairs and headed for the tunnel on the far right. MODERN HISTORY: DARK DAYS—PRESENT, the plaque above the entrance read.

The Dark Days, the president thought to himself as he entered the bookshelf-lined tunnel. The districts, tired of living in a constant state of servitude to the Capitol, had, unsurprisingly, decided to rebel. That worked out quite well for them, thought the President. The Capitol, with its superior forces, had been able to defeat the rebels. Although the districts put up quite a good fight, killing many of the Capitol's soldiers in the process, in the end, they surrendered, especially after they saw—or thought they saw—what happened to Thirteen, annihilated by the Capitol's bombs.

Then came the Hunger Games, the punishment the Capitol had imposed onto the remaining twelve districts for their disobedience. Maybe they were afraid of ending up like Thirteen, but for the next seventy-four years, the districts remained quiet as they sent off twenty-three of their children to die every year.

Of course, something had to go wrong sooner or later. And it did, right after the seventy-fourth Hunger Games, when Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark made history by becoming the first two tributes to ever win the same Hunger Games. It turned out that the districts hadn't been just quietly tolerating the Capitol's abuses after all. They had just been biding their time, waiting for a spark to set off another rebellion. And Everdeen had given them just that spark. With the help of District Thirteen, which had somehow managed to survive the bombings, they rose up again, even stronger than before.

Still, the Capitol's might managed to overwhelm the rebellious districts. With the help of loyal District Two, they managed to crush the rebellion. The Districts, while massive, were not united. The Capitol took advantage of this by playing them against each other, and, while they were distracted, routed them in a final sweep. Katniss Everdeen, defeated and humiliated, was brought back to the Capitol in chains. A tape of her execution was in the archives somewhere, thought the president. But now was not the time for entertainment. The president was here on a mission, and was not going to be distracted.

And now, over a hundred years later, there was more talk of rebellion. The president would have to do something about that. And he decided that that something would be this year's games, bloodier and more magnificent than ever before.

When the president was sure that he had found the right section, he scurried up a metal ladder built into the side of the twenty-foot high bookshelf. About two-thirds of the way up, he heaved himself onto a narrow metal walkway, trotted forward a few steps, and came to a stop next to a thick, leather-bound book about eight hundred pages long. THE SECOND REBELLION, read its spine. The president carefully dislodged the massive volume and quickly went back the way he came, eager to get out of the archives.

* * *

**So this year's arena is the human mind. You know, kind of like Inception but less confusing and more insane and brutal.**

**The entire Games will be taking place inside the tributes' heads, while they're placed in a coma. Special machines will link all of the tributes' dreams together, placing them in a special arena. Other machines will keep the tributes alive while they're knocked out. Should a tribute die in their dreams, they will wake up. And then be killed. Again.**

**More details about the arena will be revealed later, right before the Games begin :).**

* * *

**Right now, tribute submissions are CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who submitted, but I have more tributes than I need right now. Don't worry, I'm still using them, but not as tributes. Maybe as mentors or rebels? A tribute list should be up sooner or later.**

* * *

**Review? Please? Feedback and advice would be appreciated. And it might help your tribute survive ;).**


	3. In the Lion's Den: The Tributes

**Games Tower, The Capitol: ****Ian Crowley, Head Gamemaker**

"All twenty-four tributes are secure in the Tower," mentions Aidan as he slams a two-foot high stack of folders and whatnot into my desk with a sound loud enough to make me wince. My desk! It's goddamn rosewood, for heaven's sake! Does that bastard know how much this stuff costs, especially now that it's extinct? "Here are the bios," he continues. As if that wasn't obvious already. "Have fun."

With that, he spins around and walks back into the elevator, disappearing from view as the doors slide shut. I just sigh and bury my face into my palms. Sometimes I seriously wonder why I keep this idiot around. If it wasn't for the fact that he's twice as fast as all of those other buffoons that I hired as assistants, I would have thrown him off of the top of this damn building long ago.

I guess I had better get started with this garbage.

I pick up the gargantuan heap of papers, and, with a grunt, heave all of it into the industrial-size wastebin by my desk. It's not like I don't have the stuff saved onto my hard drive. No, I only sent for hard copies of all twenty-four of the tributes' bios because it would be fun making Aidan carry all that stuff up a couple flights of stairs and a hundred-story elevator ride. Sure, it kills trees, but whatever. I'll let the people of Seven and Eight deal with that.

Right now, however, I've got more important things to attend to. Namely, checking out these tributes and sending the stylists their clothing sizes. Time to enter stalker mode...

* * *

**TRIBUTES OF THE 200th HUNGER GAMES**

**District One: Luxury**

Girl—**Caramel Burgundy**, 16, submitted by _Stardust Terrastar _**  
**

_A psychopath in a supermodel's body, Caramel has a morbid fascination with blood and guts, and is one of the bloodthirstiest tributes in the Career pack. Most of the time, she is able to hide her sadistic side under a kind and caring facade, but what will happen when the pressure of the Games overwhelms her? Whatever happens, it will surely be interesting to watch..._

Boy—**Chandler Kennel**, 17, submitted by _NikkiFed29 _**  
**

_Like his district partner, Chandler is a sadist, wanting nothing more than to cause other people suffering. However, instead of torturing his victims physically, Chandler prefers to do his damage mentally, usually by playing his sickening mind games with them. With an intricate knowledge of the workings of peoples' minds, Chandler is quite a formidable opponent. Will this sadism lead him to victory or his downfall?_

* * *

**District Two: Masonry**

Girl—**Charlotte Salt**, 18, submitted by _charlywarlythgtvd _**  
**

_Charlotte is in a girl in a 'constant state of vigilance', as she describes herself...but 'constant state of paranoia bordering insanity' would be a better description. As a result, Charlotte has a rather severe case of multiple personality disorder, which means that she can be a sunny, happy person one minute and turn into a complete bitch the next. How will her fellow Careers put up with this? _

Boy—**Alden James Stamos**, 17, submitted by _SeekerDraconis_ **  
**

_After being orphaned at the age of seven when his family was murdered, Alden was taken in by the parents of his best friend, Niall Hoult, who raised him as their own. Over time, Alden fell in love with Niall, something that he kept secret from his best friend out of fear of being rejected. When the Peacekeepers showed up in the middle of the night to collect Niall for the Games, Alden volunteered in his place. Now he's ready to do anything to return to the boy he loves._

* * *

**District Three: Technology**

Girl—**Reagan Lockster**, 16, submitted by _XxJinxxedxX_

_The daughter of an inventor, Reagan has developed a detailed knowledge of machinery and electronics. She is also quite skilled with the use of explosives and bombs, and is proficient in setting exploding traps. If given some mines from around the launch area and expensive chemicals from rich sponsors, she can develop into quite a dangerous contender in these Games... _

Boy—**Cormier Hemlock**, 14, submitted by _quiet-little-wallflower _**  
**

_Cormier is a blind, sickly, and quite unfortunate boy who has somehow managed to make it to the second round of Games (Possibly because Reagan's explosive traps killed off most of the boys in his district). He's quite weak and frail, and has been a burden to his family for his whole life. Cormier really has no plans to win, only to die and end his constant state of misery._

* * *

**District Four: Fishing**

Girl—**Rain Lakura**, 14, submitted by _Katnissfire87654_

_Rain is quite skilled with many weapons, although her skill at lying well is what makes her such a dangerous tribute. Her older sister was killed in the Hunger Games, and her mother died a few years ago, leaving Rain with just her father and her cat. Rain has managed to overcome the rest of the girls in her district to become this year's tribute. Now she's ready to do what her sister couldn't: to win the Hunger Games._

Boy—**Ryan Aquarium**, 17, submitted by _artist quest_

_Ryan, who received a brain injury from an accident when he was younger, is not the sharpest tool in the box. However, he is able to make up this shortcoming with his tremendous physical strength and endurance. His size and sheer strength will make him a tribute to be feared in this arena. But how will his already-damaged brain be able to cope with the strain of this mental prison?_

* * *

**District Five: Power**

Girl—**Mireya Spradin**, 14, submitted by _Karthea_

_A natural rebel, Mireya has hated the Capitol for as long as she can remember. The cruelty and unfairness of the Capitol and their violent Hunger Games disgusts her. Now that she has been chosen for this year's Games, will she keep her head down and play along with the Capitol, increasing her chances of survival? Or will she make her defiance of the Capitol her final act, choosing to go out with a bang?_

Boy—**Octavian Amorous**, 14, submitted by _XMistressChaosx_

_A brilliant actor, Octavian hides behind his limp and speech defects, playing the part of the weak-willed fool quite well. In reality, however, he is a cunning trickster who can manipulate people and play them against each other with ease. Although not the most physically intimidating tributes, his deadly trickery makes him truly a force to be reckoned with. Can the other tributes discover his secret before it's too late?_

* * *

**District Six: Transportation**

Girl—**Ivy Langral**, 16, submitted by _NikkiFed29 _**  
**

_Ivy, a friendly and easygoing girl, has never really taken anything seriously, not even when she was chosen for this year's Hunger Games. Instead, she chooses to make snide remarks about almost everything, even the Games and the Capitol. She managed to survive the first wave of horror, mainly from an accident and sheer luck. How will she do in the next round?_

Boy—**Garratt Treen**, 17, submitted by _jackel4005_

_Considered one of the 'nice guys' in District Six, Garratt is friendly but soft-hearted, and prefers to stay out of the center of attention. Although he has managed to survive this far, he finds it very hard to kill. His strategy for these Games is to stay away from the spotlight and let the other tributes do the fighting. Will he succeed? Will he escape the arena with no blood on his hands or die trying?_

* * *

**District Seven: Lumber**

Girl—**Wisteria Raelon**, 15, submitted by _imAfan99 _**  
**

_Growing up in the shadow of her brother, Drethyx, Wisteria has always been ignored by parents who saw her as a burden, disapproving of her tomboyish and rowdy attitude. Most of the time, she conceals her fiery personality under a quiet demeanor. But now that she and her brother have been reaped for the Games, will she take the opportunity to exact revenge on Drethyx? _

Boy—**Drethyx Raelon**, 17, submitted by _imAfan99_

_Drethyx has always enjoyed more attention from his wealthy parents than his sister, and loves it. His selfishness and persuasion skills are his main assets in these Games, although he is also one of the more physically powerful tributes, standing at over six feet tall. He is quite a ruthless person, caring only about his own survival, and is prepared to kill his own sister to make it happen. _

* * *

**District Eight: Textiles**

Girl—**Cherlyn Rowlett**, 16, submitted by _Acid Extortion_

_Cherlyn is seen by many people, including her own parents, as weird and possibly insane. Instead of interacting with the other children in her district, she spends her days roaming the streets of District Four with her dog Bitsy. Cherlyn is quite notorious in her district for zoning out and doing the wrong things at the wrong times. Will she be able to snap back to reality in time for the Games? Or will she just be another victim of the endless slaughter?_

Boy—**Justyx Lakyn**, 15, submitted by_ 11o.O  
_

_Justyx dislikes fighting, preferring a strategy of staying in the shadows and killing his opponents through long range weapons and traps. He also __has a hard time controlling what comes out of his mouth, and often gets into trouble for saying things he shouldn't be, mostly bad things about the Capitol. How long will the Gamemakers tolerate his verbal abuse before finishing him off? _

* * *

**District Nine: Grain**

Girl—** Cordelia Thomson**, 17, submitted by _XxJinxxedxX_**  
**

_Clever and witty, Cordelia is a very good liar, and takes advantage of her surroundings, making it her very easy to escape from dangerous situations. Despite not being very strong, her mind is a deadly weapon, especially in this arena of dreams. Will she be able to discover the secret of this arena before the other tributes and use it to her own advantage?_

Boy—**Sage Alburn**, 14, submitted by _Crazyllamapersonlol_**  
**

_Despite being the Mayor's son, Sage hates everything about the Capitol, from their totalitarian rule to their sadistic Hunger Games. As most people who have crossed him know, bad things happen to people that he hates. Now that he has become a tribute in these Games, his hatred for the Capitol has increased tenfold. Will he be able to get revenge on the Capitol? Or will his status as a Capitolite lead to his downfall?_

* * *

**District Ten: Livestock**

Girl—**Chocolate Everlast**, 16, submitted by _Depthsofthesea_

_Chocolate has two sides. Most of the time, she displays a quiet, thoughtful personality to the rest of the world. However, she has always had a murderous, deadly dark side hidden deep inside her. Sometimes, she can't control this part of her and will lose her mind. She usually avoids people when she feels her insane side taking control, so that she won't hurt anyone. Will she be able to control her bloodlust? Or will she go down as one of the most insane tributes to have ever entered the Hunger Games?_

Boy—** Crux Fawn Endmore**, 18, submitted by _Stardust Terrastar_

_Growing up in District 10, Crux has developed an affinity for animals and is talented at taming even the fiercest of them. A mysterious tribute, he prefers staying with his tamed beasts instead of other people, and is very protective of them. He is quite powerfully built and has no problem with killing people, although it take him more willpower to kill animals. Can Crux lead his animal army to victory?_

* * *

**District Eleven: Agriculture**

Girl—**Belladonna Circe**, 18, submitted by _XMistressChaosx _**  
**

_Sweet, beautiful Belladonna is like an angel to the people of her district, always helping people who need. However, despite her kind personality, she's a deadly fighter, with superhuman physical strength and incredible weapon skills. And, by the way, she also has a lot of rage bottled up inside of her, as she had to raise her six siblings singlehandedly after her father died and her mother went insane. Any bets on how long she's going to last?_

Boy—**Aconite Acanthus**, 17, submitted by _Aspect1_

_A talented actor, Aconite acts kind and friendly, convincing people that he's a nice guy before stabbing them in the back. In reality, Aconite is quite a misanthrope, having no real friends due to his cruel attitude towards others, only an innocent girl named Acacia that he enjoys manipulating. Will he be able to deceive and backstab his fellow tributes before they find out his secrets?_

* * *

**District Twelve: Coal**

Girl— **Mykal Duncan**, 14, submitted by _shimmergirl109_

_Mykal enjoys joking around and goofing off, although it sometimes gets her in trouble with the Peacekeepers in her district. She has also had an enormous crush on a certain boy in her district for as long as she can remember. The only problem? He's going into the Hunger Games with her. Will her district partner return her affection? Or will they have to fight each other to the death? _

Boy—**Keldon Peak**, 14, submitted by _shimmergirl109_

_Keldon, like his district partner, likes making people laugh, although he can be more thoughtful at some times. Now that he's in the Games, he has switched into his "thoughtful" mode. He is also unaware that Mykal likes him and is unsure if he has feelings for her. Will he ally himself with the girl that likes him? Or will he ignore her advances and try to kill her?_

* * *

**Sorry for the late update, but this took forever to write. These are the tributes! Now that you know a little about all of these guys, PM me your alliance requests if you have any. Or else I'll have to waste time choosing them by myself :(.**


	4. District One: Victory or Death

**District One: Victory or Death**

**Chandler Kennel, District One**

I wasn't always like this. I wasn't always a murderer, a psychopath, a sadist. Once upon a time, before I had heard of such things as the Hunger Games, of the war and the Capitol's revenge, I was different. I used to laugh, to cry, to love as much as any other boy in town. But what happened? Now I do none of these things. Emotions are weak, my father taught me. I have nothing left in my heart. I stand here, in the midst of the carnage, watching the still bodies of the children that I slaughtered. And I am indifferent.

I feel nothing. I am nothing.

I have fought. I have killed. I am a murderer. And worst of all, I don't care. I was raised to be like this. To become a tribute. To become a victor. To bring honor to the family and the district. But I see none of these things. Instead, I see a monster every time I look in the mirror. Out of the corner of my eye, I can still see the body of the little twelve-year-old, with his throat ripped open, his body limp and lifeless. He was lunging at me, ready to kill me. I had no choice. But that doesn't make me feel any better.

I believe I am lost.

But then I remember her. The girl I saved. And suddenly I have hope.

It was a frosty midwinter afternoon two years ago. I had finished training at the gym and was on my way home when I passed by. I was in the rougher side of town, where the strongest liquors and wines were produced, where one could easily get wasted for a low price. Normally, only the stoners and drunks hung around here. Regular people like her and me avoided passing through this side of town whenever we could, especially after it got dark. At the time, I had no choice. There was going to be a snowstorm that night and I wanted to be home as soon as possible.

Anyways, she was getting mugged. She had strayed out of the safety of the main road, of the dim, cracked, cast-iron streetlights, and had been accosted by a knife-wielding thug in an alley. I don't know why I stopped. Maybe it was because she was so different from the girls that I normally hung out with, the bad girls, the cold-hearted killers from the Academy. Maybe it was because I still had a little bit of a heart back then, maybe I still had something that I could call a conscience.

For whatever reason, I paused for a moment. The sun was setting quickly, and I knew I had only half an hour, at most, to get home before the real creeps started coming out. But I stopped anyways.

"Stop that," I told him.

He saw me and grinned. "Now look here, buddy, I don't want troub—"

Before he could finish, I grabbed his arm, and, with a quick flick of my wrist, disarmed him. His knife disappeared somewhere in the muddy, week-old snow piled up on the ground.

"That's too bad," I snarled. "Because I do."

His face went pale. He was used to dealing with weak, unarmed, children, not a fully-trained tribute like me. I squeezed his arm as hard as I could, making him yelp. He was, in essence, a coward.

We don't like cowards here in District One.

"Go," I hissed. "And don't come back."

The goon took one last terrified look at me, and ran.

"Thank you," the girl called after me as I turned and walked away. But I was already gone.

* * *

**Caramel Burgundy, District One**

There is no hope. There never was any hope for me.

Things might have been different, a long time ago, when I was younger. But now they are no more.

As I stand here, watching as the bodies of my friends and classmates lying around me grow cold and still, a strange feeling rushes through me. No, it's not nausea or disgust. It's something much stronger. Something like…elation?

I've got to admit, watching people die, bathed in blood and guts, has always been interesting to me. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the Hunger Games, the festival of gore in which twenty-three children perished every year. Something in me is constantly yearning for blood, for death, for vengeance. I've felt these urges before, many times. And I've always managed to keep them down. But not today.

"You sick bitch!" someone yells at me. I turn to see a muscular boy about my age jumping at me as he swings his axe downwards. Stupid bastard. I flick my knife out of my sleeve and stab him in the chest before he can even blink. His body slides to the ground, blood splattering out of the wound and getting all over the place. It's obvious that he won't be getting back up. Still, I don't turn away from the boy until his cannon sounds. That makes…nineteen dead? Five of us left. Who's left? There's me, two of the older boys, the twelve year old psycho, and…Gemma. My best friend. But she has to die for me to come home. Surprisingly, I find that I don't mind. In fact, I would quite enjoy it. Especially if I killed her myself.

Reinvigorated by the possibility of having to kill my best friend, I head deeper into the forest, making no effort to conceal my movements. She'll find me sooner or later. And we're the last two girls left in the arena. Hopefully she will know what that means.

Before long, I can hear loud footsteps, mirroring mine, coming from my left. That would be Gemma for you. That loud-mouthed whore couldn't be quiet even if her life depended on it. Like now.

Without pausing, I pull another knife out of my sleeve and send it flying into a tree trunk, twenty feet away. It quivers, embedded right up to the hilt. A tanned, round face framed by long locks of dark blonde hair peers out from behind it. Gemma.

"That was low, even for you," she gasps. "Caramel."

"We're in a fight to the death right now," I sneer. "We don't play by the rules here." And it's true, we don't. Who is she, a five year old? Any fool knows that anything goes in the Hunger Games. But not Gemma. She was always reluctant about training, reluctant to kill. And now she's going to pay for it.

"Well, come and kill me then," she challenges. "You wouldn't kill me…would you…?" She falters as she sees the maniacal grin that must be plastered on my face.

"There's a lot about me that you don't know," I reply. Before she can respond, I'm running towards her, twirling my knife like a baton. I slam into her, pinning her to the ground. "I'll tell you a secret," I whisper seductively, hypnotically as she squirms beneath me. "I've always hated you, you bitch. I've wanted to kill you for a long time…and it looks like I'm going to get me wish!" I giggle insanely as I say the last part.

I'm slammed to the ground and Gemma's hands are around my throat before I realize that I might have gone too far. She's not as skilled with weapons as I am, but when it comes to brute force, Gemma wins, hands down. "How could you?" she screams as she slams my head into the dirt again and again. I try to fight back, but my punches and kicks seem to have no effect on the enraged girl.

Things might have gotten pretty bad if the cannon hadn't sounded just then. And then again. Which meant…

"Ladies and gentlemen," boomed the voice of our district escort. "I present you the male tribute of District One…Chandler Kennel!"

Gemma looked up, momentarily confused. Just in time to catch my boot in her jaw. She tumbles backwards, groaning and rubbing her chin. I painfully pick myself up, stumbling forward and almost falling into her.

Slowly, steadily, I raise my last knife and slam it into Gemma's chest as hard as I can. And I do it again. And again. And again. Until her cannon sounds. I collapse onto her, her blood smearing my face, knowing what must come next.

"And our female tribute…Caramel Burgundy!"

* * *

**Woa...that took a while to write. Anyways, here are our District One sadists! Don't worry, not all of the tributes are going to be this violent. And while you're reading this, click the blue button down there and maybe leave a review...;)**


	5. District Two: Ashes to Ashes

**District Two: Ashes to Ashes**

**Alden James Stamos, District Two**

We played together. We trained together. And now we die together.

It's been only half an hour since they've thrown us onto this godforsaken mountain in the middle of nowhere and already three-quarters of us are dead. James. Tyler. Cass. And over a dozen others. Their bodies litter the ground drenching the earth with their blood. Their faces light up the sky, bathing the arena in a sickly glow.

Most of the other tributes are still fighting it out at the Cornucopia, cutting each other down with reckless abandon, whether friend or foe. This is what we have trained for. To fight, to kill, without mercy, without remorse, without pity. All in the name of entertainment, to satisfy the twisted creatures that rule over us with an iron fist.

No wonder why the other districts think we're psychos.

And me? Am I any better off than the rest of them?

My eyes, the eyes of a predator, scan the arena, looking for a target. And I find one.

The muscular eighteen year old glares back at me from twenty feet away, his brutal black eyes warning me not to mess with him. I grin, brandishing my eight-foot lance as I do so. He makes a slicing motion across his throat.

And before he can react I stab him through the chest and kick him off the cliff. The poor bastard won't know what hit him until it's too late. _Boom_, the cannon sounds, splitting through the blood-reeking air. What was he thinking, facing off with me? Me, the psycho tribute dedicated to only one thing: getting back to the boy he loves.

My entire family was murdered when I was seven. I still don't know who did it, or why. All I can remember is that my best friend, Niall Hoult, took care of me after that. The Hoult family was one of the wealthier families in Two. As they were better off than most of the other parents in the district, Thomas and Esme Hoult could actually afford to support another child. And so I found a new home, a home where I was happy for the first time.

I'm not sure when I started loving Niall. The only thing that's for sure is that I've had to keep it to myself all these years, not daring to admit my real feelings, fearing rejection from Niall, from his parents, from the entire district.

Then came the night they came to take him away.

Winning the Games had been Niall's dream ever since he was old enough to be reaped. Training became his life, his obsession, even though his parents disapproved of it. And over the years, he became bigger, tougher, and deadlier. He became ruthless as he trained, careless of the death and horror of the Games, guided by only one motive: to win.

Ever since the Quell twist was announced, Niall hasn't been able to stop talking about the games, going on and on about how wonderful these games are going to be and how he's going to volunteer because this is the last year he can be in the Games and how he's going to be the first tribute from District Two to win a Quarter Quell.

I wasn't like him. I went to the Games Academy with him. I grew up with him, training and becoming stronger. While he became ruthless, I still retained some of my humanity, I still loved him. So when the Peacekeepers showed up at the door in the middle of the night to ship Niall off to the Games, I volunteered in his place. I begged them to take me instead, unable to bear the thought of losing him. I was a coward. I had taken the one and only dream of the boy I loved and shattered them with my selfishness, because I couldn't bear the thought of losing him. Niall has every right to hate me.

There are only a few of us left. Even as I stand here, the tributes around me are dropping like flies. A brutal girl about my age is hammering in the skull of another girl with a rock. A boy who can't be older than fourteen crushes the throat of an eighteen year old with his bare fists. _Boom! Boom! _Two more cannons ring out. Three tributes remaining. And I'm one of them.

I exchange a glance with the other boy left and a moment of understanding passes between us. Two boys are left. Only one can live. Then he leaps at me and I hurl a spear into his stomach with enough force that it punctures straight through his abdomen and out of his back. A quick knife blow to his throat puts him out of his suffering. The final cannon sounds.

I'm sorry for shattering your dreams, Niall, but I'll come back to you. I promise.

* * *

**Charlotte Salt, District Two**

Trust no one.

The second the gong sounds, I rocket off of my metal plate, sprinting for the Cornucopia as fast as my legs can carry me. The others are close behind me. The others. They look like my fellow tributes. They act like my fellow tributes. They even sound like my fellow tributes, gurgling and rasping, when I skewer two of them through the lungs with my sword. But they're not my fellow tributes. They're monsters, muttations of the Capitol, out to get me. What for? I haven't done anything wrong. I've been a loyal citizen my entire life! This must be a dream, then. And when I run this sword through myself, I'll wake up. Or is this reality? I lost the ability to distinguish between the two long ago. Real or fake? Light or dark? Now all I see is a constant gray.

Something-or someone-lands with a thump behind me. Even as I spin around, ready to confront it, an axe blade sinks into my arm, cleaving a deep gash into my bicep. The pain is explosive, dizzying, nauseous. So this _is _real. I hope. I hold on to the agony as long as I can, embracing the pain, not wanting to lose my only foothold in reality.

But the girl in front of me has other plans. Even as I struggle between my two worlds, she swings her axe at me again—my sword is immediately buried into her chest, gouging a great red hole where her heart should be. If this is reality, then these must be muttations, savage monsters out for my blood.

Mutts. Mutts everywhere. They may look like the children in my district, the boys and girls that I've gotten to know over the course of eighteen years, but they're trying to kill me. It's alright if I fight them, if I injure them, if I kill them. The real people won't feel it. The real children, the real boys and girls that I'm supposed to be killing, are safe, back at home.

They're out to kill me. I'll kill them first. I have to kill them. And then what will happen? What will the Capitol do to me next? Send me into the Quarter Quell—wait, this _is _the Quarter Quell. I can still remember the President reading the card months and months ago—but it seems like hundreds of years have passed. The twist! Twenty-four children from each district are selected, but only two can go in. The rest...they die.

And for a second, my mind is clearer than it has been in months. This is the first round of Hunger Games. And I will win it. Even if I have to kill every single one of the other twenty-four children here with me.

Already blood runs slick through the dirt, slicing jagged lines of red all over the mountaintop. Cannons are booming almost nonstop, each one announcing another death. The air is thick with the screams of the dying. I fight my way through the mass of bodies, dead and living. I fly into a blood-induced fury, striking at anything that moves as I make my way around the arena. Until there is nothing left to fight, until my blows meet only air. Twenty-two corpses are scattered around the arena. I've won.

"The tributes of District Two," a disembodied voice booms. "Charlotte Salt and Alden Stamos!"

* * *

**Crazy tributes, huh?**

**Sorry for the delay, I've been really busy lately with finals and end-of-the-year activities and summer break and all that fun stuff. But now that all of that's over, I can finally get back to writing this :). Expect me to update about twice a week from now on, on Sundays and Wednesdays. **


	6. District Three: Mind over Machine

**District Three: Mind over Machine**

**Reagan Lockster, District Three**

I lie there with my eyes closed, even though I'm already awake, not wanting to leave the shelter and warm of my bed. Something is burning, giving off an acrid odor. A man is swearing somewhere near me, and I can hear metallic clangs and screeches far off in the distance. I guess my father must be trying to cook breakfast again. I'll probably have to stop him before he burns down this miserable shack that we call a home.

Something wet is dripping on my hand. That would be my dog, Wally, trying to wake me up before my father blows us sky-high. When I don't respond, the dripping becomes faster, more persistent. "Not now," I groan as I roll over and turn away from Wally. Getting up means facing another day, another six periods of torture at school, another seven-hour shift at the factory where I make televisions and computers and toasters and whatnot. I figure that I still have at least fifteen minutes before he blows him, me, Wally, and half the district to kingdom come.

An explosion, and then a single cannon shot. Damn, it sounds like my father's a lot perkier than usual today. Time to get up.

I open my eyes. Instead of our scorched, cracked, and water-stained ceiling, the first thing that meets my eyes is the hazy, smog-filled sky. The air is cold and stagnant, reeking of spilled blood. _What the hell just happened?_

I'm lying on a pile of corpses, all of them still warm—or maybe it's just my body heat. Debris, cracked slabs of stone and concrete, tower around me. One body has been flung over me, blood dripping from a chest wound to where my hand was, only moments earlier. Sickened, I heave the corpse off of me, and stumble away from the grisly scene. They're all children.

This can mean only one thing. The Hunger Games. The annual televised event in which all of Panem gets to watched as their children get murdered, one by one. How else can I explain the bodies, the blood, the cannon shot? But I have no memory of the reaping, the parade, and the bloodbath. How did I end up there, under a stack of children's corpses? It makes my head hurt just to think about it.

So what are my chances of surviving? As of right now, I have exactly zero bags, zero food, zero water, and zero matches. Lovely. On the bright side, I've found a pipe bomb tucked in my jacket, three fire grenades strapped to my belt, and a knife cleverly concealed in my boot. At least I'll be well armed while I'm dying of thirst, hunger, exposure, or whatever I'll be facing in this hell on earth.

Two more cannon shots ring out. Well, someone seems to be in a hurry today. The sky lights up as they show the emaciated face of a scrawny, dark-haired boy, and then, thirty seconds later, that of a girl about my age. Oddly, there are no numbers for me to identify them by. I try to shrug my concerns off. Since when has the Capitol cared about my convenience? Still, it troubles me, especially since I have no idea about how many of us tributes are still alive.

I don't have much time to bask in the self-pity of my multiple problems before another cannon is fired. Another face, this time belonging to a girl that can't be more than twelve, shines high in the sky. How are the tributes dying so quickly? Is the Career pack smarter than usual this year? Have the Gamemakers thrown some new mutt into the arena, mutts that I've been lucky enough to avoid so far? This entire scenario is puzzling. And I don't like puzzles.

Before long, I have my answer. In fact, I hear it before I see it. Two voices, one belonging to a boy and one of a girl, drift through the smoky air as they get louder and louder. They must be heading straight for me. I realize that I don't care. Let them come, those murderers. I remember the twelve year old's haunting face in the sky. They've bitten off more than they can chew this time.

"—and did you see the look on her face?" crows the boy. "Her eyes were as big as saucers—at least they were until I gouged them out!" I hear something hitting a pillar of concrete with a sickening splat. Could he really have done something so disgusting?

"And how she sounded when I ran her through," laughs the girl. "Remember how she screamed?" She makes a high pitched, strangled-sounding squeak. They both chuckle with glee.

I feel myself go hot with rage. The very least they could do would be to kill with some dignity, some mercy, without any of their torture or their sickening experiments. The only thing they're doing is giving the Capitol a better show. I unhook a flame grenade from my belt.

Then the two of them turn the corner and find themselves face-to-face with me.

"Well, how nice of you to walk straight—what the hell?" swears the boy as my grenade bounces off his head and lands at his feet. He pokes at it with his club—

—and is instantly consumed by an inferno. The fireball reaches out, catching the girl, and both of them scream as the flames eat away at their bodies. Two cannons boom. A minute later, all that is left of the Career pack are two heaps of ash. I'd love to see the hovercraft try to pick that up.

I unhook another flame grenade from my belt and head off to look for some more tributes.

* * *

**Cormier Hemlock, District Three**

My life sucks. You think you have it bad? Wait until you see my life. I kid you not, your life is nothing compared to mine.

So I was born a couple of months prematurely, completely blind and with a list of weird birth defects that could stretch for miles. Some of them, like my susceptibility to even the most minor diseases, can be particularly annoying. I've never really been let out of the house; there's always the chance that I could be run over by a car OR contract some new disease that would force my parents to work extra to pay for the healer—even now, my siblings are going hungry to pay for my medical bills. Being a burden sucks. I wonder what my mother would say if she saw me in the Hunger Games, the most dangerous environment of all.

Oh, that's right; I've been thrown into a fight to the death televised nationwide, to top things off. Wonderful. I guess it's kind of my fault, though, since I volunteered to take my brother's place when those goons came to our house in the middle of the night to cart him off to certain death. At least he has a hopefully long, healthy, and un-blind life ahead of them, while I'm just a burden to my family. I guess I'm better off dead. At least I won't be blind anymore.

So, now that I'm actually in the Hunger Games, I guess I have two choices:

1.) Try to somehow _feel _my way to the Cornucopia as soon as the gong rings, hoping that I won't trip over something and kill myself in a humiliatingly painful way or, heaven forbid, that I get killed by some idiot looking for a blind, easy, target because blind, easy targets are all too common in these Games

2.) Give up and lie down by my metal plate, where I'll probably get trampled by the crowd of bloodthirsty tributes, or, in a best case scenario, be mistaken for dead and survive these Games to continue my torment

Either way, I'm dead. At least the second choice takes less effort.

True to my word, I lie down the second the gong sounds and hope that getting trampled to death is a lot less painful then it sounds. Cannons go off almost immediately as the screams of dying children fill the air. Weapons clang and screech as tributes hack away at each other. The smell of something burning stings my nostrils. Well, this is wonderful.

And then the world blows up.

A huge explosion rips though the area, spraying debris and rubble all over the place. Several chunks of something—they sound like concrete—crash into the ground near me, narrowly missing my head. And then, silence. Am I dead? No, I can feel the sting of multiple cuts and bruises on my arms and legs. And I'm still blind. Which means that I'm fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it) still among the living.

Things go quickly after that. After a while, the cannons start booming again. Explosions rip through the arena, taking out multiple tributes at a time. Just what I needed. A pyromaniac on the loose.

"People of District Three," a voice suddenly booms. "Your tributes—Reagan Lockster and Cormier Hemlock!"

* * *

**Did you notice a difference? Yeah, I tried to change up my writing style this chapter. Because writing two dozen tributes in the same style gets boring kind of quickly.**

**Anyways, sorry about being a bad updater lately :(. Summer break is turning out to be a lot crazier than I expected (not bad, just busy), but I'll still be able to update regularly. I hope.**


	7. District Four: It Will Rain

**District Four: It Will Rain**

**Rain Lakura, District Four**

Well, I've been having a pretty fun morning. I've been suddenly thrown into a brutal free-for-all with twenty-four other insane teenagers on this miserable rock in the freaking _middle of the ocean_. To top that off, I currently have no food, no water, and no supplies AT ALL, save the spear and dagger I jacked from some dead guy back at the Cornucopia. And now I've managed to get myself stuck in a fight to the death against some creep armed with a freaking flail. A bloodstained, spiked, and _highly unsanitary_ flail that looks like it would hurt on contact, I might add. Looks like my day's just getting better and better.

We've already established a routine. Flail Guy swings his monster of a flail at me. I duck. Flail Guy swears like a sailor (Ironic, considering that we're from the Fishing District) and swings at me again. I dodge him again. This clown really needs to work on his aim. I swear, could hit him from fifty feet away with my eyes closed and both hands tied behind my back. Unfortunately, I'm not fifty feet away from him. Which calls for some improvisation on my part.

The poor sap really does look like an idiot, flailing around all over the place like he seriously expects me to stay still. I'd feel sorry for him if he wasn't trying to bash my brains out. Unfortunately, my range of emotions is seriously limited right now, considering that I'm stuck in the Hunger Games. There's no room for kindness, no room to be sentimental. There's no way I'm going to end up like my sister. I'm going to win these Games.

Oceana volunteered for the Games four years ago, when I was ten. Watching her mount the stage before the escort lady had even picked a slip (she was never really patient), ready to take on the challenge, ready to bring honor to our district, was probably the most frightening moment of my life. I was proud, yeah, but mainly scared. Our district hadn't taken home a single victor in over twenty years, not since the last Quell. The mentors were growing more drunk and desperate, the escort more flustered and irritable, with every passing year. I was glad that my sister had taken it into her hands to restore our district's reputation. But I was afraid. Oceana was capable of winning, it was true, but I was worried, worried about the worst that could happen.

Things couldn't have started out smoother. Oceana scored a ten in training, and managed to get in with that year's Career Pack: A muscled hunk from One, two raging freaks from Two, and her district partner, some quiet guy who never said much but had managed to score an eleven in training. With twelve dead by the end of the bloodbath (Oceana scored two kills), the five of them set off to explore more of the creepy-alpine-forest-arena. That was when things started to go downhill. The two weirdos from Two had an argument on Day Three and literally tore each other apart. Later that evening, Eleven Boy decided to ditch the pack, leaving Oceana with the guy from One. Oceana, was, of course, thrilled (not) to be alone with some creep who had killed three people and decided to hop on the bandwagon, leaving the boy from One while he was sleeping.

Then she was alone and completely at the mercy of the Gamemakers. For the rest of the week, she tried to keep a low profile, fishing in some ice-choked-river, sleeping in a hole in the snow, not daring to make a fire out of fear for attracting other tributes. The other Careers weren't doing so well either. Eleven Boy had raised his killstreak up to six, but an avalanche ruined his stuff, leaving him starving as he desperately searched for well-supplied victims. The boy from One was killed on Day Six by the joint efforts of the guys from Districts Seven and Nine. Compared to her former allies, Oceana was prospering.

On Day Eight, Eleven boy bumped into Oceana. He must have been completely out of his mind with hunger by then, recklessly charging at her from twenty yards away. She shot him in the head before he had even gotten within reach.

Of course, killing your district partner is usually considered a taboo in the districts, right up there with cannibalism. Oceana must have realized it, realized that even if she came back home, she had no future. She would be shunned by everyone, rejected by her friends. Like what any sane person would do, she had a lovely little mental breakdown.

Unfortunately, she had let her guard down. The boy from Seven axed her in the back before she knew it.

The days went by quickly after that. I don't know if it was because I was in so much grief, so emotionally detached from the world that I no longer cared, or if it was because the tributes, knowing that they couldn't last much longer, were growing restless. My mother had been dead for years; my father was trapped inside the torments of his own head. Now my sister had died in the Games. I was ten years old and completely alone. I only remember that the boy from District Nine turned on Seven and split his head open with an enormous sword (props to him) and went on to win the Games. Watching him being crowned victor, sitting in the throne that should have belonged to my sister, I made a promise to myself: I would win one day; I would bring honor to both of us.

So here I am now, beating on some amateur teenager who looks like he has no idea how to handle a flail. He's getting tired, and I don't hesitate as he begins to slow, letting down his guard. My spear punctures straight through his right lung. I slit his throat with my knife, finishing him off. The cannon sounds out seconds later. That wasn't so hard, was it? I feel bad for killing him for a moment, but I push that aside. _No room for emotion_, I tell myself. That should be my new catchphrase. I can't fail now.

I. Will. Win.

* * *

**Ryan Aquarium, District Four**

These Games have been going great so far. Being able to run around to kill my friends and classmates without any concern for the consequences...this is pretty awesome. I've managed to get in five kills so far, and it's been only a few hours since we were released into the arena and all hell broke loose. Something tells me that this is going to be a pretty good day.

So, how many of us are left? Ten dead at the bloodbath, and three since then—that makes eleven. Eleven tributes left. My allies, James and Dylan, and I are three of them. I don't know who the other eight are, and I don't care. I'll figure that stuff out when I kill them.

Right now, I'm scouring the woods around this demonic island arena. If there are any other tributes nearby, they're doing a good job of hiding themselves. I have just about turned this entire place inside-out, and there's still no sign of any people, other than James, Dylan, and me. The frustration is literally killing me. As I feel several sharp, stabbing pains in my head—a side effect of the Accident—I begin to fantasize about killing Dylan. It's sick, I know, but I'm getting bored. And when I get bored, people start dying. The poor guy's only gotten in two kills so far, anyways. No one will miss him. Or maybe James. He's starting to get pretty annoying, the way he's just staring at me, not saying a word, with that mysterious half-smile plastered on his face. As if he knows something that I don't. Or maybe he's just waiting for me to snap. At the moment, I'm just about ready to kill both of them.

Another cannon sounds. Great. Nine more to go. I'm irritated that some bastard is stealing my kills, but I shrug it off. There are plenty more fish in the sea—or tributes in the arena, in my case. Two more cannons ring out. Okay, now I'm getting seriously pissed. That bastard had better get ready to get his ass kicked by the amazing Ryan Aquarium. I feel myself getting pumped just thinking about it. Vengeance will be sweet.

Of course, I'll have to deal with these two clowns first. Which one should I choose? Whatever, the next one that talks is going to die. It's going to be hard, since neither of them are very big talkers. These two idiots aren't worth the effort. Without a word, I turn right and stalk through the thick undergrowth. I hear the two of them follow me silently. One of them has to talk sooner or later. Right?

A fourth cannon shot. Okay, screw the system. I spin around and nail Dylan straight in the neck with my sword. He gurgles and falls to the ground as the cannon rings out. I notice that James' annoying smile has disappeared. Instead, it's been replaced by an even more annoying scowl. Must be having second thoughts about teaming up with me. Well, it's too late for him to back out now. He's stuck on this crazy ride with me.

A flash of movement streaks across my vision. It's some scrawny, unarmed kid who looks about twelve. He's running. Hard. Before I can chase him, another tribute sprints past me, a bulky guy who's got a bloodstained sword brandished high above his head. Looks like I've found that camper who's been stealing all my kills. As I'm about to run after the two of them, an arrow suddenly sprouts out of the camper's head. Two cannon shots. The little kid falls to the ground, an arrow sticking out of his back, as dead as a doornail. I dive to the ground, narrowly avoiding an arrow as it whizzes over my head. Oh yeah, I forgot James was an archer. I guess he's actually turning out to be pretty useful. There's only one small snag…

"Don't EVER steal my kills again," I snarl as I stab him through the chest. He coughs, gurgling as blood streams out of his mouth, and grins—altogether, it's pretty messy. His entire front side is slick with blood. "Well…that escalated pretty quickly…" he rasps and goes limp. A cannon shot announces his death.

Two of us left. The tributes from Four. Let the Games begin.

* * *

**Aaand here are your District Four tributes.**

**FINALLY done! Sorry for the delay, but this chapter has been the hardest for me to write so far. Writing something this long has really drained my down. And thanks for the reviews! You guys really motivated me to get up and finish this today :).**

**Well, I guess I have kind of an excuse for updating so late this time. It's secret for now, but you guys will find out what it is the next time I update. Which will hopefully NOT be two weeks late ;).**


	8. Train Rides, District Five: Secrets

**Train Ride: District Five**

**Octavian Amorous, District Five**

_Hiss. _The double doors of the train slide shut, and then we're off, gliding smoothly out of the train station and through District Five, past the rickety oil refineries, past the stinking plastic factories, past the enormous electricity pylons that have become our district's signature. I try to take in as much of it as I can, standing with my nose pressed to the window, my breath fogging up the glass, staring at my home until all that is left of it are tiny little smudges on the horizon—quickly swallowed up by the desert. It's a depressing sight. Who knows if I'll ever come home again?

"Are you gonna be like that for the whole trip or what?" I spin around to see Mireya Spradlin standing there, her arms crossed over her chest, glaring at me.

I yelp. "Go-Good lord, yo-you scared me." I squeak pitifully. "My heart…" I take several exaggeratedly deep, raspy breaths, as if I've been running a marathon instead of pathetically reminiscing of home. My hand weakly clasps my chest, pretending to feel my heartbeat.

"Don't give me that crap," Mireya snarls. "You're no idiot. You won the Hunger Games, for heaven's sake! I'm not as stupid as you think." She pokes my bony chest hard. This time, I don't bother feigning pain. She already knows my secret. Shoot.

I'm not as weak as the rest of my district gives me credit for. To them, I'm just Oct-Oct-Octavian, the pathetic little weakling who can't even say his name properly. I've been living a lie. Although I was born with a mild limp and stutter, most of it has just been exaggerated by me over the years. When people look at me, they see a cripple. What they don't see is an all-knowing mastermind who is ready to bring them down at the slightest provocation. People let their guard down around me. The let slip rumors, secrets that they would never expect a fool like me to understand. I know secrets. Dangerous secrets. And now Mireya knows mine.

"If you ever tell anyone…" I hiss, trying to sound as menacing as possible. Which isn't very easy when you're a skinny fourteen-year-old boy with a stutter.

Mireya looks smugly amused. Right now, it's annoying as hell. "Well, I might just let it slip the next time we're on national television if some _certain_ circumstances are not met…" She trails off. I have no idea what she means by that, and I don't really want to know.

"If you tell ANYONE," I snarl, my voice low, deadly, and miraculously stutter-free, "the world will know of how much you hate the Capitol and our dear Mr. President. And although you're going to die anyway, I will make sure your family feels the complete, painful consequences of your crimes, _even if it's the last freaking thing I do_."

The poor girl actually takes a step backwards, as if I've punched her. "You wouldn't—how would you know anyways? Besides, my family means nothing to me." She sneers. She's trying to put on the tough front, but I can see right through it. She's shaken.

"Like you said, I'm not as stupid as you think," I reply simply. "You don't _let slip_ my secret, and I won't tell anyone yours. Deal?" She nods. "Great. Now let's get something to eat. I'm freaking starving."

* * *

**Mireya Spradlin, District Five**

My mind is racing at a thousand miles per hour as I follow Octavian into the food car. How could that idiot have found out my secret? It's true that I haven't been very discreet about how much I hate those despicable animals that force us to send our children off to slaughter every year, and most of all that bastard of a president. I guess hatred isn't enough to describe what I feel for them. But how could anyone, least of all the town fool, find out my secret? No, now the question is, Will he tell anyone? Was he bluffing? Has he told anyone already? I'm already going to die, but if they hurt my family...it's true that we don't like each other very much, but I could never live with myself if something happened to them because of me.

I'm so lost in thought that I nearly crash into Octavian before I notice that he's suddenly stopped. Looking over his shoulder, I can see why.

The center of the room is dominated by a long table. An endless banquet has been laid out on top of it. Plates are piled high with mountains of colorful food that I've never seen before. And all I can think is, _While we're starving in the streets, they're living like this?_ Just reason number two hundred and forty-six to hate the Capitol. Of course, what catches my attention the most are the two men sitting at the other side of the table. Our mentors. I think their names are Blake and Calvin, but in our district, they're more commonly referred to as—

"Junk and Drunker," Octavian sneers. Both of them are passed out, slumped faceforward into their plates. A rapidly growing puddle of drool is spreading next to Blake. Yuck. I wince in disgust as it begins to drip to the floor. "Which one do you want?"

So I get to choose between a druggie and a drunk to be my mentor. Awesome. "I'll take Calvin," I groan, trying to keep my disgust at a manageable level. At least this guy has less of a chance of dying in the middle of the Games from a morphling overdose.

To my surprise, Octavian actually grins slightly. "I guess I'll take Junk then," he chuckles, an all-knowing smile plastered on his face. Creep. I hate that smile.

He casually strolls around the table and whispers something into Blake's ear. The sedative-laden mentor's bloodshot eyes bolt open immediately, and he unsteadily gets up and follows Octavian out of the room, nearly crashing into the door. I'm left here standing like an idiot.

_What the hell?_

I slowly creep over to Calvin and poke him in the arm, taking care not to touch the lake of drool that is now cascading over the table in torrents. He doesn't move. I whisper "_Get UP!_" in his ear. Still nothing. I kick him in the back. He falls over, still passed out. This is going to be a freaking long ride.

* * *

**And here are our District 5 tributes! ****I thought that those fight-to-the-death scenes were getting a bit repetitive, so now I'm moving on to train rides. Not much else to say...reviews would be nice, though :).**


	9. Train Rides, District Six: Broken

**Train Rides: District Six**

**Garratt Treen, District Six**

I've been on this train for only ten minutes, and already it's so awkward that it's almost unbearable.

Being from District Six, I'm expected by most to be pretty savvy on a train. Instead, I've managed to trip and knock over the entire dining table (don't ask), gotten lost three times (I still have no idea where my room is), and awkwardly wandered into my district partner's room while she was taking a shower (hey, I _thought_ it looked like my room!). Now I've been locked by my escort in a windowless car with my morphling-addicted mentor to keep me company. Fun.

After trying the lock for like the fiftieth time, I finally turn to face the gaunt bag of bones that happens to be my mentor. I think his name is Silas or something. His once handsome face is pale and wan, his neatly groomed hair is now long and unkempt. But the creepiest part about him is his eyes. They're empty, lifeless. Although it's hard to believe, he's actually one of the better mentors in Six, especially when compared to the other victors. Mainly because he's new and morphling hasn't had time to waste him completely away yet. Right now, however, he still looks like he's about to fall over and die. Which would be the perfect way to top off my day.

Better to start now than never. "Hello," I carefully venture. "My name is Garratt." I say as slowly and as deliberately as I can. It's a pretty stupid way to start a conversation, but what the heck. If he's heard me, he doesn't give any sign of it. I might as well be talking with a rock for all my effort. At least a rock won't suddenly die from a morphling overdose. "Any advice?" I ask him. Still no reaction. Why do I even bother? This is getting so frustrating that I could scream. But that would be rude. Not to mention that it would probably make things even more awkward.

Just when I'm about to go back to kicking the door, he speaks. "Inception," he croaks, as if just speaking is costing him a tremendous effort—which is probably true. "It's all in your head…don't trust your eyes…" he manages to choke out. Then his head lolls and he begins to snore. He's fast asleep. He actually snores pretty loudly for someone who looks like he could die at any moment.

_Well, this sucks._

I start kicking the door again. What the hell does he mean by "inception"? I remember looking it up in the dictionary once, when I was younger, but the only thing I came up with was "the act, process, or instance of beginning", which makes absolutely no sense here. And "it's all in your head"? What am I supposed to do with that? Are they going to give us drugs and turn us into hallucinating junkies like Silas? This is making my head hurt.

The door opens. In comes Ivy. I determinedly stare at the ground. _Don't look at her. Don't look at her. Don't look at her. _I look at her.

"Dinner's ready," she sneers. "Two cars up from here. Don't get lost again."

* * *

**Ivy Langral, District Six**

Dinner is awkward, to say the least.

Garratt has been released from the prison car and is sitting as far away from me as he can, picking at a loaf of bread without enthusiasm. The two mentors, both hopeless morphling addicts, just sit there and awkwardly stare at the food like they can't make up their mind whether to eat it or not. Kree, our escort, is sitting sullenly and reapplying her makeup after her first few attempts to start a conversation have been met by needle-dropping silence. And I'm just sitting on a hard, uncomfortable chair and staring at the others, wondering what the heck has gone wrong with the world. We're an amusing little bunch.

Garratt finishes his bread and pushes his plate back, wincing as the sound reverberates throughout the entire car. The silence is getting painful. Kree stands up and stomps out of the room, her ridiculous high heels making loud clicking noises with every step. Garratt stands, pushes in his chair with an awful screech, and shuffles out of the door in the opposite direction, probably still looking for his room. Which leaves me and the two vegetables sitting there silently in the darkening dining car.

The TV at the end of the room automatically flickers on and the seal of Panem shines merrily, with patriotic music playing in the background. It must be the reaping recap, or, in this year's case, the recap of the bloody substitutes they've replaced reapings with. The two mentors are completely engrossed by this new phenomenon, by the flashing colors and the blazing music. I think I'm going to be sick.

Since they don't have time to show all twelve of these miniature Hunger Games, we thankfully just get a short glimpse of the kills and victors from each district. Brutal Careers overpower their competition in One, Two, and Four. Some genius girl literally blows the entire arena in Three. In the other districts, the deaths go by slower, with the tributes waiting each other out as they starve to death one by one. Altogether, the whole thing is just horrible.

And then there's us. They show Garratt going on a tearful rampage, nearly having a mental breakdown every time he kills a tribute. They show me, drifting through the arena, stealing and scavenging supplies from others, avoiding confrontation until I'm finally forced to fight the lone remaining girl. They show the whole, bloody scene as I evade her attacks, wearing her down, and when she finally lets her guard down, they show me—

I throw a dinner knife at the screen. Electricity crackles and the TV goes dark. I'll probably get in a load of trouble for this, but who cares? I'm a killer. I took another's life so that my own would be spared. I'm a monster. Hopefully, someday I'll forget. Someday.

If I don't do it again.

* * *

**So Garratt knows the secret now but doesn't know that he knows ;). Straightforward enough, huh? And it looks like Ivy's having second thoughts about being a victor. Train rides are so much easier to write than fights to the death, so expect me to update a lot sooner these days. Thanks to everyone that reviewed! You guys really motivated me to wake up this morning and finish this thing :D.**


	10. Train Rides, District Seven: Grudges

**Train Rides: District Seven**

**Wisteria Raelon, District Seven**

"What's up, sis?"

I tear my gaze away from the television to see my brother Drethyx lounging in the doorway, casually keeping his distance from me. Although his voice is warm, the look in his glacier-blue eyes is icy cold. I've seen that look before. In fact, I've seen it just now, in the Games recaps right in front of me. It's a look that he wears when he's about to kill.

Yeah, we kind of have an, ah, _strained_ relationship.

"What do you want?" I ask, my voice letting him know that I don't believe for a second that he doesn't want to kill me. "You can come in, you know."

He doesn't move. If possible, it seems like his gaze has gotten even colder.

"Just letting you know that I'm going to kill you the second I get my hands on a weapon," he drawls. "Oh, and on a _completely_ unrelated note, our mentors want to see us."

"What?" My mind instantly flashes through the thousand or so ways in which he could kill me right now.

"I said," he repeats slowly, as if talking to a particularly stupid child, "I'm going to kill you the second I get my—

"No, I got that part well enough," I shoot back. "You said that our mentors want to see us?"

"Yeah," he replies smoothly. "What? You don't believe me?"

"Not a bit."

"Whatever," he shrugs. "Just letting you know, that's all." With that, he casually strolls out of the doorway, probably on his way back to the dark pit from whence he came.

I wait until he gets out of earshot, and then stand up and follow him. This is probably going to end badly, but, hey, what the heck? I was born for adventure.

Before long, I begin to hear voices. I recognize Drethyx's sickly sweet drawl immediately. The other voice is low and gruff, presumably that of his mentor. So that snake wasn't lying after all. That doesn't make me trust him any more, of course.

"Where's your sister?" Gruff Mentor asks.

"She didn't want to come," is Drethyx's reply. "Can we start without her?"

Oh, Drethyx, how considerate of you!

"You didn't kill her off, did you?" another voice joins in. It's a woman's voice, but not as high pitched as the escort's. Maybe it's my mentor?

The two mentors burst into laughter. Creeps. As I linger by the doorway, I can barely hear Drethyx's reply:

"Not yet, I haven't." he mutters.

Let him come. I'm ready.

* * *

**Drethyx Raelon, District Seven**

"Weapon?"

"Needles."

"As in sewing needles?"

"No. Throwing needles. Poisoned ones."

Once we're all settled down, my mentor, Sander, starts firing questions at me as if this is some freakish Q-and-A session.

"Hmmm…" he considers this for a moment. "Alright then. Strengths?"

"Speed, stealth, and accuracy."

"Weaknesses?"

"Losing."

"No, I mean _real_ weaknesses. What are they?"

"Losing."

"Is that all?"

"Yeah."

He sighs. "Great," he mutters, without enthusiasm. "Now if you'll excuse me for a second…" He picks up his glass of clear liquor and quaffs half of it in a single gulp. "Back to the subject. Weapon?"

"You already asked me this." I shoot back, irritated.

"Oh, really?" he asks, completely befuddled. "Well, I don't remember…"

"Here," I push him a pen and paper. He takes them with unsteady hands. "I'll take this." I snatch the half-empty glass of liquor from him and dump the rest of it into a potted plant. Even from several feet away, the stuff still reeks. I have no idea how he can down so much and still talk straight. But back to the subject.

"Weapon?"

"Poisoned throwing needles."

He draws a couple of squiggly lines. This is starting to get pretty freaking hopeless. Sighing, I pry the pen and paper out of his hands and write down all of the questions he asked me, plus all of the answers I gave him. I fold it up and hand it to him. He looks at it and puts it into his wallet. "We'll do this later," he says. "Now…where's my drink?"

I shrug guiltily. "No idea."

Sander stands up and stomps out of the car. I don't bother stopping him.

* * *

**Finally, a not-slow update! Told you these were going to be quick. Of course, this stuff is like 90% dialogue, but it should still give you a decent glimpse into how much Wisteria and Drethyx hate each other. Sibling rivalry can be really cute sometimes ;). **

**Anywaaays, a review would be nice. I only got 4 reviews last chapter (thanks to everyone who reviewed!). I hope you guys haven't forgotten about me :(. **


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